Equation
by jsfan4ever
Summary: We must live with the consequences. [J&S pairing]


Disclaimer: It all belongs to CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: We must live with the consequences.

A/N: Thanks to the awesome M for the beta and feedback. This is set sometime during S2.

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Equation

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"Loving someone is giving them the power to hurt you, but trusting them not to."

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_The shot echoed in her ears and she pressed the trigger._

_There was a second detonation._

_Then a third._

_A fourth._

_She lost count of them, lost track of who fired next and whether her bullets found their target or Jack's did. Her mind was clouded, dazed by the smell of gunpowder, deafened by the deflagrations and the scream, the sight of a body crashing, falling, down, dead, onto the floor in a pool of blood._

_The unbearable silence that followed was even worse. She held her breath, hands trembling as she lowered her gun._

"_Shit!"_

_It was Jack's voice. It made her slowly turn around to face him. The look in his eyes was one she had never seen before, and it scared her-- Jack didn't lose control like this, not at work. She knew what he was currently feeling, though, because she felt the same. They had failed to handle the situation, and their routine arrest had become a disaster in a frighteningly short fraction of second._

_The bad guy was dead, but so was the kid. His name was Ted Meyers, five year old, gone missing two days before. Kidnapped. Held hostage. _

_Murdered before they had arrived. _

_Why was Jack staring at her? Had she been hit? It didn't feel like the time a bullet had gone through her leg; and she thought she might be the best person to know if it were the case. But she couldn't feel anything anymore, couldn't think, couldn't speak, as if she had received a blow on the head and emotions, sensations and feelings had been completely wiped out of her._

_When she was able to breathe again, she looked down at her arms and legs, a part of her almost surprised to find herself still standing. God, had Jack__ been shot? Her fear was quickly replaced by relief when she saw that he was unharmed; but it didn't make her feel less helpless, and she leaned heavily against the wall behind her. _

Sam didn't recall what exactly had happened next. Jack must have flicked his cell phone open and dialled a number, spoken for a few instants, and hung up, because she had heard him speak with someone, and she knew corpses didn't say much.

"_Jack--"_

"_Sam?" he called, taking in the sight of her shaking body. "Sam, are you all right?"_

_No._

_She didn't quite know whether to run, sob on his shoulder or scream, scream and try to rid herself of the revolting, sickening feeling that was washing over her. He was now half-carrying her away from the scene and into the corridor, an arm around her waist. The hell with protocol and procedures, the bodies inside weren't going anywhere._

"_Jack," Sam said again, feeling a tear on her cheek. It hurt so much. "He killed him… he killed the boy…"_

"_I know," he answered quietly. _

_It was just that. Jack knew, Jack was watching her cry without laughing, without judging her, without doing anything but caring; Jack understood. _

_Jack was doing his best to keep himself together._

"_He didn't even try to-- I mean-- he just killed him--"_

"_I know," Jack said again. "Sam, I _know._" He was struggling to keep the stress out of his words, fighting an internal battle she understood only too well. _

_"Come on." His voice cracked. He took her hand in his, entwining his fingers with hers, sharing her pain like he had not done in a very long time._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Sam, you should go home." 

She looked up from her notes, startled. "What?"

It wasn't that late but everyone else had left at the end of the exhausting day. Closing a case so early was rare, and they had been lucky when no one else had gone missing in the following couple of hours.

"Go home," he said, and even if his voice was gentle, it also carried something making it quite clear that he meant it. "You've done enough."

"Enough? Yeah, I suppose shooting a man and letting a kid die is enough, no need for me to kill anyone else before the end of the day."

It was his time to be startled, and a couple of seconds went by before he said quietly, "That's not what I meant."

She took a deep breath, realizing how bitter she must have sounded. "I just--" she winced. "I feel terrible, Jack. Like… like a monster, for having not saved Ted."

His expression changed, determination transforming into a quiet, heart-breaking desperation she never wanted to see again. He didn't feel like something solid to hold on to; it felt like he was falling along with her.

"I feel horrible too," he admitted in an undertone, almost to himself. With a small sigh, he walked around her desk and his knuckles brushed against her arm before he laid a hand on it.

There was the barest of changes in the air between them as her eyes fell on his hand. The prospect of the dark and gloomy apartment waiting for her wasn't at all engaging, whereas remaining here in this comfortable armchair with Jack beside her and waking up ten hours later…

"Sam?"

She opened her eyes to find a half-smile on his face.

"You were falling asleep," he pointed out, retrieving his hand.

His voice was tinged with melancholy, as if he were suddenly remembering a time when he had been able to watch her sleep, or had reached out for her, instinctively seeking the comfort of her arms when they were left alone in the quiet office. But this time was gone, and they weren't going back to it. He had said it himself on that bench. It was over.

She had asked and he had answered, given her the truth that neither wanted to hear, speaking with a quiet, surreal resolve that had been nothing more than the last wall standing among the pieces of their broken hearts.

Back then, he had thought he was doing the right thing; he had convinced himself that some lines were not meant be crossed again. But he had also known, upon seeing the look in her eyes, that no matter what was said between them, no matter how hard they tried to bravely act as if it were easy to forget and move on, nothing would really be over.

His fingers moved again to touch hers but he held back, instead running a hand through his ruffled hair, pretending that it was a gesture meant to do just that and nothing else.

Sam's eyes travelled upwards until they stopped on his unruly hair, and he made another unsuccessful attempt to keep it flat. God only knew she didn't feel like smirking or teasing him tonight, but the corners of her mouth widened nonetheless, not sufficiently to make it a genuine smile, but enough to turn it into something that resembled the ghost of one.

He let his hand fall back to his side, hating that she couldn't even bring herself to laugh. He knew the reason she couldn't, though. She didn't tease him anymore, not in that playful way, not when it would have hinted at something that drifted dangerously close to being intimate. Too many things remained unspoken, emotions that had never been openly acknowledged, questions that had never been asked.

When she stifled a yawn and rubbed her eyes, he made a decision. "Come on, I'll drive you home."

She looked up held his gaze, waiting for a sign that would show he regretted having spoken too fast. "Yeah?" she asked quietly when he didn't look away.

He knew he should never have suggested anything. Her hesitation almost made him reconsider, and yet against his better judgment he muttered unblinkingly, "Yeah."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The inside of his car hadn't changed much, and she liked the warmth and comfortable seats. The contrast with the office they had just left would never cease to amaze her, as if having spent too much time working in the stern, professional space devoted to them in a federal building had made her forget the world that was outside. 

She believed that letting Jack drive her home was a better option than staying in late to fill reports, and it wasn't as if anything would happen between them tonight anyway. Yet it felt strange to be seated next to him, as if she were an onlooker, invading his personal space again when she wasn't supposed to.

They exchanged a few words when he drove off, but soon they were lost in their own thoughts, enjoying the short ride, feeling strangely rested and at peace in the other's presence. He let his subconscious guide him through the right streets, not needing to make an effort to remember which turns to make, blinking at the lights as if that simple gesture would help him forget about the little boy who had died earlier today.

It did not take them long to reach their destination, and he was soon parked in front of her apartment. She leaned back into her seat, watching as one of his hands hovered above the key ring before he turned off the engine.

Neither moved.

She caught him looking at her with a strange, indefinable expression, but he turned away when she met his eyes and she knew better than to ask. For the slightest of instants she thought he was about to speak, but he turned his gaze back on the wheel in front of him, his eyes trying to see right through it, and yet somehow unable to make out anything at all.

The couple of minutes that had just gone by had managed to completely upset the secure balance they had managed to find in their words and actions, and the undying what-do-we-do-now question seemed to have resurfaced. She extended an arm to open the door on her side but couldn't bring herself to pull the handle, not when she didn't feel like saying good-night.

There was no sound in the car, just this stillness hanging in the air; and the silence enveloping them had become awkward, coming close to being unsafe as it conveyed more than any word or conversation could ever have.

A strangled whisper escaped her lips as she unexpectedly asked, "Do you want a drink?" 

He turned to her. Time stilled, his eyes trying to silently communicate what he could not bring himself to say aloud.

"Do you want me to have one?"

She kept quiet, but when she wrapped her fingers around his he knew he had his answer.

He followed her as she walked inside and they climbed the stairs, step after step until they reached her door. She produced her set of keys and it took her a few seconds to find the right one in the dark.

"You know, I can't get Ted Meyers out of my head," she whispered suddenly. "And I can't help thinking that maybe if we'd arrived sooner, we might have handled it better."

He was caught off guard by the regret and exhaustion in her voice. It was always harder when a child died; because how do you justify that something that should never have happened did come to happen? He couldn't say why some parents had to go through losing a child, no more than he could explain why they had to be the ones to witness it.

Her back was turned to him and all he could see was the outlines of her head because neither of them had bothered to turn on the lights. "Things happen… They just do," he said as she entered. He followed her, closing the door and letting his eyes journey around her apartment.

The shock was greater than he had imagined; he had felt ready to see it again, but realized now that wasn't close to being prepared. "It's the world we live in, Sam," he went on quietly, making a conscious effort to keep his voice from wavering. "We must live with the consequences."

She nodded comprehendingly but when she turned to face him, her eyes had filled with tears and even from where he stood he could see the moisture in them. He took a step in her direction, his expression soft. "Hey--" he raised a hand to her cheeks and brushed her face softly, not sure whether she was going to grab his arm and push him away.

She didn't.

Sam shut her eyes, allowing the touch to last a few seconds before she gently stood back to take off her coat, leaving it on the back of a chair near the couch. It was needless for her to ask if he wanted a drink; it had merely been an excuse, and neither needed to bring up the subject to know that it had been just that.

He watched her as she left her coat on a chair near the couch, and his gazed stopped on the latter. He still remembered the weight of her head on his shoulder and the feel of her hair against his lower jaw as they had held each other close, back in a time when there had been no night to darken the room, no distorted shadows on her face cast by the gloomy streetlights below, only a brightness that he had wanted to believe was everlasting.

The memory seemed to float between them as she caught the flicker of regret on his features. She felt a sudden urge to sit down with him, lean against his chest and call the gesture familiar again.

He moved imperceptibly, his face no longer in the circle of light produced by her lamp. He still had his coat on, and there were really only two things he could do. Either take it off-- but he knew what that would mean-- or bid her good night and get back to his car.

What was he doing here anyway? What was he expecting?

"Sam--" he said, quietly. "I really shouldn't stay." His voice had an odd sound to it, as if something in his throat was scratching the words.

She moved aside to let him pass and he did so, heading for the door, stopping only when he was faced with it. It was a while before he hesitantly reached inside his pockets for his car keys, and then at long last his fingers found the handle.

"Jack--"

A muscle in his cheek twitched but she couldn't see it, not when his back was turned. One other glance was all it would take-- and he couldn't, wouldn't let that happen.

In an almost strangled voice he muttered, "I can't, Sam. We can't."

She spoke the one word that escaped her lips before she could stop it. "Why not?"

He became so still he could have been a statue carved into ice, and yet he wasn't cold; on the contrary, the heat in her apartment was suffocating. His determination was starting to crumble, and a few seconds went by insignificantly as he struggled for coherent thought.

Opening the door was the only right thing to do; he had to leave, for both his sake and hers. Because if he turned around, if he met her eyes and saw the silent question reverberated in them, if he saw the pain and hurt and sadness on her face, and if there was even the smallest flicker of hope on her face, he knew he would not have the strength to turn away again.

He could feel Sam standing behind him, her eyes on his back, and suddenly it was too much, he couldn't bear it any more, he had to do something… anything, to dull the pain. He didn't want to think about what he was going to do, didn't want to know how much it hurt. He just wanted her, the smell of her hair, the comfort of her arms, the warmth of her body.

He turned around slowly, knowing that this was doomed, that he'd lose her anyway. She was already gone, she'd been gone the moment he'd first laid his hands on her, when he had met her eyes and read the same love in them that he had for her. He had known this would happen, and also known, somewhere inside him, that the moment he stopped considering Samantha Spade as just a work colleague it would mean one day having to lose her forever. At the time, he had been willing to take the chance.

Now, he wasn't so sure anymore.

She took a step forward, tentatively, but he held a hand between them.

"Don't--" he said breathlessly; but it had been too late from the moment he had decided to turn around. There could have been ten different ends to his unfinished sentence, but he spoke none of them aloud.

Don't do this. Don't tempt me.

Don't let me go away, because I miss you too much.

He missed having her with him at night when all he wanted was to forget, he missed the unconditional smiles and the long glances and the feeling of her hands on him. She was in his thoughts all the time, from the moment he woke up in the morning to the moment he fell asleep wishing she was curled up in his arms.

He bit his lip with a mixture of longing and ache before he declared simply, "I miss it."

She stilled. Why did it always have to be so simple, and yet so immensely complicated between them? Why couldn't he walk away, why couldn't she just _let_ him walk away?

She said nothing, perhaps unconsciously afraid of what might happen if she also told him how much she craved him in return. This was not a game. If they fell, they wouldn't land smoothly or begin a new one. They would crash, and it would only hurt so much more when they hit the ground.

"Jack--"

She went silent as he crossed the distance that separated them, wordlessly agreeing to jeopardize it all, for her, for them, for the here and now. Her hands finally took hold of his coat and he leaned in forward, pressing his lips to hers, crushing their bodies together with a need that went beyond ordinary physical desire, wanting to burry himself in the sensation of her hands traveling along his coat, his tie, his neck.

He let his body control his movements, surrendering to the craving that he had held at bay for so long, and let go of any coherent thought as their tongues met, pushing each other roughly, almost brutally, their hands now frantic and desperate while he managed to discard his coat.

What they were doing was their business; it didn't involve rules, right or wrong. This was about them, just them and not the world outside, not the white board they had had to wipe, not the man they had shot. They had lost a child today, but at least, they still had each other.

Deftly she loosened his tie, causing him to shift so close to her that she barely had enough space to fumble with his collar. She met his dark eyes again and in that instant words were meaningless, they could not compete with the touch of his fingers brushing along her skin, or the sanctuary and comfort he was willing to provide her.

He let go of her mouth to place kisses along her throat, their frenzy gestures replaced by gentleness as they sought a closer comfort, one that only they knew how to find within each other. His hands followed the curves of her body, hovering just close enough to her skin to make her breath quicken, touching her and at the same time denying her the pleasure of feeling him as close as she would have wanted. She complied with this new, exquisite torture, parting her lips as their mouths joined again.

He wondered if they should turn on the lights instead of letting the darkness linger, but when he made a move to the wall and attempted to find the switch she mumbled something that sounded like a refusal and he let his arm snake around her shoulders once more, not reluctant at all to use the couple of seconds it gave him to run his fingers through her hair. The obscurity, after all, brought a sense of erotic intimacy to the scene, and with it the knowledge that they would have to explore each other thoroughly in the dim light that filtered through the curtains.

Too immersed in each other, the outside became foreign, the yellow-orange light cast by the cars outside merely flashes of light on their faces, the loud steps of a neighbour that came back home late a faint sound that went unnoticed as their breaths melded, rational thoughts drifted into oblivion and reason dissolved into the shadows. He deepened the kiss and she began to undo the buttons of his shirt, hands feverish, starting from the collar and going down until his shirt fell open and her hands finally came in contact with a larger area of exposed skin.

She moaned softly against his lips when he imitated her, undressing her at a deliberately unhurried pace, taking his time to make sure the moment would last as long as possible. He made a choked sound, halfway between a gasp and a groan when her hands inched lower, under the material of his open shirt, all the way down to the buckle of his belt, at which point she seemed to hesitate.

"Jack--" she said, her face inches from his own, her breath lost in the heat of their bodies. She needed this last confirmation that he wanted this, because if he didn't, if there was one way she could have misinterpreted his intents, she would never forgive herself for having forced him into something he was powerless to stop.

He brought his hands to each side of her head, his pulse racing as he leaned in forward again, caressing her lips with his own.

"Sam--" he managed to say in a ragged breath, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to." And then he lead her further into her apartment, mouths still colliding, and into the haven of her bedroom, knowing where her bed was, and knowing that since they would regret it all anyway, they could at least make the most out of the hours before them.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"_They're going to be here any second… Are you all right?"_

_Sam nodded mutely. Straightened up. Readjusted the coat on her shoulders. _

_When Danny and Vivian showed up, her face revealed no sign of her inner turmoil. Jack would be the only one to know how much this case had upset her, and she would be the only one to know that he had been just as shaken for a couple of minutes. It was why she treasured the hours they spent working together; because no matter what they had to endure every day, they always reached an unmatched level of comprehension, not needing to ask or pry to know what the other felt. They just knew, with one glance, one word, one touch. The way their emotions completed each other made them two parts of a greater ensemble, two halves of the same mind. It was why it hurt so much to be separated._

_Danny and Vivian headed toward them as soon as they came into view._

"_Jack? Are you okay?"_

_He made sure his face remained impassive, schooling his features until they showed none of the anger and weariness he felt. He was the boss; he couldn't allow himself the luxury of being weak. "Yeah, Danny, I'm fine. Call Martin at the office and tell him we got our guy, and then tell him he can close the case. We found who we were looking for. As for the rest… it's no longer in our hands. I'll handle the paperwork."_

"_But--"_

"_Case closed, Danny."_

_There was a pause. "All right, Jack."_

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

They had indeed closed the case hours ago. Ted Meyer was now nothing more than a picture among others, put away in a file that had been stored in a drawer somewhere in the large archive room. When grown-ups played cops and robbers with loaded guns, children tended to end up really dead, really fast.

It was an ugly world they lived in. The lies were ugly, the truth was very idealistic and very unattainable, and what people did everyday was never very beautiful either. She supposed that what they had done was ugly too, if you considered how little good it had achieved and all the wrong that had or would come out of it. She had never gotten drunk to the point of knowing what a hangover felt like, but this was probably worse, worse than a simple headache, worse than just a physical ache that went from the tip of her toenails all the way up to the loose strands of hair she had tucked behind her ears.

It was the emotional pain that was excruciating, weighing on her conscience, crushing her until she was unable to think about anything else. All she could do was stare at the ceiling and hope against all hope that it would all somehow disappear.

A long time went by, or maybe just a couple of minutes; but she couldn't quite place them, nor could she really comprehend what she was waiting for. The bed felt cold, cold and empty and silent-- and yet she feared the moment he would come back and want to talk.

Had he left in the light of dawn? Had he gotten up silently to make some coffee, given a phone call, or slid out of bed in order to pick up his clothes and get dressed? Or had he fled, escaping the aftermath of the previous night, seizing the opportunity of her being asleep to quietly head out before they had to face both each other and the consequences of their actions?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Perhaps it no longer mattered.

She felt moisture on her cheeks, but it was just another thing lost among others in the blurred and undefined world that had become hers. The room was dancing before her eyes, mere touches of colors, patches of light and shadows in the grey morning. She didn't recognize anything; not the regular ticking of a cloak on the bedside table, not the painting on the wall to her right. Her universe was only comprised of vague forms and immediate sensations that flooded her brain. A torrent of water, or maybe they were just tears, a faint light that came from another world and the sound of familiar footsteps on the thick carpet. A strange, indefinable sensation in the pit of her stomach, the sudden recognition of a well-known fragrance in the air-- and then him, standing there. So close.

And so infinitely far away.

The world fell back to its right place, the indistinct outlines becoming furniture and walls, the bedside table on which stood the alarm clock becoming hers.

Jack becoming Jack again. He would always be Jack to her, Jack and his troubled gaze, Jack and that look he gave her as though he wanted to whisper words of comfort in her ears again and hold her until the world was theirs to possess. Jack and his qualities, Jack and his flaws, Jack and the haggard, ghostly expression that haunted his features as he struggled to keep his steadiness in the doorway.

She said nothing, bracing herself for what would come next, unconsciously pasting on her face an expression that resembled his, the tears she had shed having left burned marks on her cheeks. The quietness was more unbearable than if they had shouted or fought or yelled at each other. This was the cruelest of punishments, to be unable to talk, unable to say the things that needed to be said, unable to do anything else but look helplessly at each other across the room, failing to find appropriate words.

He lingered in the doorway, one hand gripping the doorframe, his knuckles turning whiter as the seconds passed. The shirt he was wearing was the same as the previous evening, and only served as an unwanted reminder that he no longer kept clothes at her apartment. His hair was even more ruffled than before, sticking up at odd angles, giving him the look of someone who had been through hell-- but then again, maybe he had.

He would have wanted to look away but his eyes were locked with hers and he couldn't avert his gaze. He didn't know which was worse; his own conscience, or the pain that he read in her eyes. He had messed up her life all over again and he knew it. All it had taken was one moment of weakness, one flickering second the previous evening that had been enough for him to turn around from the door he ought to have walked out through. They had been willing to give their lives and souls to the other then, without further consideration, without trying to find out if it was for the first or last time, without wondering what tomorrow would or would not bring.

But for them there would always be this other equation in the balance; the one that opposed one night, one moment of shared, forbidden pleasure to a lifetime of broken promises, false illusions and eternal regrets.

"It was a mistake, Sam."

It wasn't as if it were the first time.

The tone was gentle, not pushing, not asking for justification or absolution. He wasn't accusing her; he was merely accepting the facts, knowing that they had to be dealt with. "Sam," he spoke her name softly, "I'm so sorry."

She couldn't believe he was apologizing, not when it was her fault as much as his.

"For what?" she said in a breath. Her eyes sought out his hollow ones, waiting for him to speak, to say a word. Just one word would be enough, no matter if it conveyed anger, sadness, rage, despair, yearning… _anything_ would do as long as it managed to bring down this barrier of silence that seemed almost impossible to overcome.

His fingers were numb but he didn't relinquish his grip, too afraid of what might happen if he let go of the only thing that kept him standing. "For everything… For what I allowed myself to do… for having never been able to forget you…" He swallowed, forcing himself to continue, feeling trapped, held prisoner by the unforgiving voices in his head that left him no respite. "I'm sorry for getting back into your life when you didn't need me there."

In truth, he had never been out of her life. She forced down the remorse and loneliness out of her voice before she muttered, "You have no idea how much I need you."

A slight surprise flashed across his face but it was almost indiscernible amidst the sorrow, and she would never know what had caused it, whether her quiet response or the underlying pain that had been conveyed in it.

"I…" he began, but his voice trailed off somewhere between uncertainty and inability to finish the sentence he had wanted to speak. Silence invading the room once more, keeping them apart more surely that any other obstacle of their own making.

He wanted to believe that they would get away with it, or find a compromise to their new situation. Yet some part of him also knew that this wouldn't get them very far, not if they kept trying to hang on to what they could never truly have. She wouldn't fall back into his arms; they wouldn't share an unrestricted love and live happily ever after.

"I have to go."

She gave the smallest of nods, her stare blank and her eyes empty, void as they gazed back at him. Her chest constricted tightly as she failed to deflect the desperation that transpired in her voice. "What are we supposed to do, Jack?"

He shut his eyes and felt a tear spill out from the corner of his eye; but he didn't try to hide it, not when she was the one seeing him cry, not when they were both in the same state of undisguised shock. They weren't work colleagues, he wasn't her boss, she wasn't under his command, he wasn't the older, married man, she wasn't just the one who had been here, one day, at one particular place.

They were so much more that it hurt; they were soul mates, they were the pieces of the puzzle that fit.

_We're going to say good-bye again._

_I'm going to walk out that door and please don't try to hold me back, because we both know that I can't stay._

_I'll see you at work; we'll pretend that nothing happened and try to gather ourselves together, even if it's impossible, even if we'll never manage to forget, not in a week, not in a year, not in a lifetime._

She had asked what they were going to do, but right now he couldn't afford to give her the answer she wanted to hear. He opened his eyes and looked at her, the sadness that he read in her gaze tugging at his heart.

"We'll find something, Sam," he tried to blink away the tears, finally releasing the doorframe. In a hushed whisper, he added, "We'll be all right."

It was evident to both of them that not a word of it was true, but in an unspoken accord they left it at that. Perhaps having spent five months of their lives together sharing the same secrets, overlooking the same truth had given them the power to recognize when keeping silent was necessary.

She watched mutely as he turned around. The deafening sound of gunshots from the previous day was gone; now it were his words that echoed in her ears, along with the frustration and the quiet vulnerability that had crept into his voice.

_We'll be all right._

Sometimes, some lies were better left unchallenged.

/ End

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End file.
